Lying is The Most Fun a Girl Can Have
by marianna
Summary: Set 5 years after Lilly's death, and revolving around how they deal. Around October of Veronica's Junior year in college. She and Logan are living together which you might not actually pick up from the fic. Somewhat AU. Onshot.


You aren't quite sure which is worse; the fact that in two days Lilly will have been gone five years, or that if you had remembered without the sad timbre of your father's voice breaking the words to you through your ever-so-cheerful answering machine message, your entire life wouldn't have changed. Leave it up to Lilly to screw with everything, even posthumously.

They haunt you for days, the forgotten and buried memories-the ones that had been branded in your brain, the ones you'd sworn you'd never forget, the promises you'd never meant to keep, the lies. They haunt you, and for a frightening moment, you fear they'll never stop, these bubble gum refreshers of an innocent time, and an innocent you with a mask of piety. You're not that girl, you aren't sure if you really were ever the girl behind the curtain of gold. You aren't sure if you were ever really anything, but it doesn't really matter anymore. Both girls are dead, fragmented, not quite real enough to remember.

The anniversary comes and goes, only Logan's hand on yours gets you through it, but even so, you don't go home. You don't visit the grave, even when his eyes singe into your skin, even as the words are dying to fall from your lips, and he's heading towards the door to drive the distance alone. Guilt strangles you, and you're drowning in it, but even then, you don't break out the pictures and the wine. You don't even cry, you're all cried out, but you're still damaged and you're still broken, because when he unlocks the door, the soft pinging noise shaking you from your haze, you realize you haven't moved, not even an inch since his departure. His face tells you it gives him comfort, while his lips lie about worries and back cricks, and 'you shouldn't have waited up's' with lighted eyes and relief. You let him believe what he needs to. It saves you the effort of cleaning up an unnecessary mess.

"You coming to bed?" His words hang, obtrusively, in the air, waiting for your response. You know he won't sleep 'til you get there, know he needs to wrap his arms around you-for solace, for comfort, for _peace_. Know that while he may pretend, he needs you to sleep. Your very presence fights his demons away, and most nights you can find comfort in him too. The truth of that doesn't change the fact that you don't go to bed 'til two. You don't know who is more to blame.

There's blood everywhere. It seeps into your skin, into your hair, beneath the pale nails of your fingers, a constant reminder of this break. You tell yourself it was an accident. You spend an extra hour on the floor scrubbing the evidence away. You swear you hear her voice, calling, taunting, tantalizing you with brief stints of freedom.

_"Just a little deeper next time, Veronica."_ Her whispered words echo off the walls and when he is late coming home, you wonder if he notices the mess when he goes in to wash away his grime. You'll forever be haunted from the memory of the blood, clinging to the curtains and the floor. An extension of yourself, even.

He comes to bed and doesn't hold you. You find yourself missing the touch.

Her name is Lauren. She's a third year Psychology student who dots her i's with hearts and puts smiley faces in her o's. You have a running count in your head of how many days it will take him to tell you about her. Your bet is ten.

He breaks after three.

"Veronica?" You don't bother with a response. You know what's coming. You're prepared. You don't care anymore. Not really, not yet. He's become just another face you won't see anymore, another person your actions won't worry. He probably won't miss you when you're gone-although maybe you'll haunt him the way she haunts you. You'll have to see though, you've never actually haunted anyone before. "Veronica, there's something I have to tell you." He looks nervous. His fingers are twitching like he wants to take one of your hands in his, but he doesn't, probably because he's leaving you, and that would just be bad decorum. You wonder silently, as you watch him floundering before you, if things would have worked out differently if you had just gone back with him that day. You're pretty sure they would have.

You have a bet with yourself that _Lauren_ would have gone. For the first time since her note fell out of the lining of his jacket pocket, you find yourself hating her.

"Do you love me, Veronica?" His voice is a whisper and even though they shouldn't, his words surprise you. This is just a slightly rewritten line from the dialogue you already have written in your head. Everything is under control and you have it taken care of. Instead of responding, you smooth your face into a smile, and stare straight at him, silently begging him to cut through this small talk he feels the burning need to get in, and _leave_ already. If he just goes, you can hate him too, just like you hate Lilly for fucking with the wrong people and getting killed for it. You hate her for leaving you, and you're all set to hate him too.

It should surprise you then, when he doesn't go anywhere. Typical Logan; flinging surprise in your face when you least expect it.

"Because I love _you_." His voice is strangely wobbly. Almost as if he's holding back tears-and god help you if he's that emotional over a simple break up. You purse your lips to do it for him. It's what _she_ would have done. Cut it at the quick, cut him off at the knees, cut, cut, _cut_. Cut so deep that the stain of her blood was never really gone from the tiles.

You don't have that kind of staying power.

"But there's someone else, right?" You're surprised at how in control you sound. Not a break or tremor in your voice, and you even manage to look in his eyes. His face is contorting in a mass of contradictions, and suddenly, oh so suddenly, you realize everything you'll be losing when he leaves. And you don't want him to go, even though it's your fault, and every Dr. Phil in the book would say you pushed him away, that it was a calculated effort in order to-

In order to what-alienate the last person who could actually get through to you so that you could finally take the plunge? Feel pity for yourself? Give up without a fight? These are all viable options, but he's saying something and you close your eyes so you can't see the apologetic lies falling from his lips. You can see Lilly standing in the periphery. She's waiting for you, and you snap your eyes open, because the thought scares you more than anything.

"Logan, I-" You're surprised at yourself. Stopping him never occurred to you, but suddenly, you don't want to be alone. You don't ever want to be alone again, and you don't want him to leave. "I don't want you to leave." Under normal circumstances, you'd have never uttered these words, so pitiful and broken, laying at his feet like tangled shackles confining him to misery.

"I'm not going anywhere," He murmurs, gathering you in his arms and pressing you against your chest. You close your eyes again, and it isn't sudden. It isn't instant. His touch isn't the magic that can save you from your demons because Lilly is still there, standing just at the edges, the blood matting her hair, staining her cheek, falling on the tiles of your bathroom, where your razor hides behind the paisley shower curtain that was once hers. You cling to his back like salvation, breathing in and out because you can, pushing the blood and the scars and the memories away, your eyes open and wide, because if you close them, she'll be there and you're not sure you ever want to see her again.

"Shh," He whispers, his lips against the skin behind your ear, and it's only then that you realize you've been crying. Your tears are ruining his sweater, soaking through to his skin, branding him and making him yours. They don't mix with blood this time, and you think, just this once, you've branded him alone.

_Fin._


End file.
